


Other Side

by Felgia_Starr



Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Epistolary, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Genderbending, Historical Inaccuracy, I Made Myself Cry, Letters, Love Letters, Past Lives, Reincarnation, Soulmates, again: kind of, i'm sorry this is inaccurate, kind of?, why do i always cry whenever i write these types of fics???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felgia_Starr/pseuds/Felgia_Starr
Summary: A collection of the letters and notes sent between Dracaena Ó Nuallain and Hermes Lancaster, and how their next human incarnations, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, react to their scandalous love affair that occurred centuries ago.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: DFW 2020 Challenge [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666876
Comments: 8
Kudos: 37





	Other Side

**Author's Note:**

> mo ghrá = my love  
> a rúnsearc = secret love  
> eala = swan  
> mo chuisle = my pulse
> 
> The title comes from the song that inspired me, Otherside by Beyoncé! I watched the 'BLACK IS KING' film and cried like a baby when I first viewed the music video for that song! Enjoy!

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Would you call me a desperate, eager woman if I said I crave your presence already, if I claimed to be trapped in a miserable state ever since you left exactly seven days ago? Tell me, mo ghrá, am I too impassioned? Am I a terrible lover for wanting you to return to me immediately? Am I such a horrid woman to wish a sudden halt to your travels and studies? I know you love your work, and I respect your endless thirst for knowledge, but my heart feels tender at our distance. My hands are numb, already itching to grasp your skin, and my lips—oh how they shiver and tremble at the thought of you. Is my mind simply drifting towards insanity? Or do I just miss you? And your beating heart? And your rough, scholar hands? And your lips?  
  
I wish I can stay angry at you for your insistence to search for the answers to your unending questions, but it is an impossible task to truly begrudge you for loving and successfully fulfilling performing your purpose. Just proclaim your own longing for my presence, and I suppose that will be enough to satiate my aching heart.  
  
Now, how are you doing, a rúnsearc? Tell me that my nightly prayers have never failed me and that you are safe. Tell me everything, even the deeds that shame you. I swear to never be lacking in my love for you.

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Your undying need for respect amuses me, dear eala—or should I call you by your persistent formal signatures? Should I address you as the majestic being you are? If so, I will not have to endure hardships, for you already are the queen of my heart, the ruling presence over my mortal body. You need not flaunt your white feathers and title to me, eala. I have already been intimate with every part of you, and you should recognise the fact that even as you reign over all four kingdoms and my pesky emotions, I am the only one who is capable of bringing you to your lovely knees.  
  
Jesting aside, I long for your love as well. At night, I dream of you and your everlasting warmth. During my worst hours, I reach for you in my sleep, and the utter heartbreak that I go through each time I realise you are not here is much too painful to even discuss in writing.  
  
Frankly, I miss you. I miss running my tired fingers through your long silver hair. I miss dancing on your alabaster skin with the tips of my fingers. I miss watching your slender body turn into the most beautiful swan I’ve ever seen. I miss your hazel eyes. I miss the wet, hot flesh between your thighs. Gods, you’ve bewitched me in a way that cannot be replicated by magic, and I love it. I love you, my dear eala, and the only thing I wish for is your presence beside me.  
  
As for your question, I fear I am obligated to state my not-so well-being. I’m afraid I can never truly say ‘I am well’ when you are so far away from me. I feel as though I will only be truly reinvigorated once my lips are reunited with yours.  
  
Don’t fret, however, for I find myself distracted from my heartache most of the time. Nowadays, I am focused on my work. And you are hardly going to believe the thing I’ve discovered, lovely eala! My crew decided to take another route, an unknown one, towards your home kingdom, and we found an island! A full-fledged island, perhaps even bigger than the smallest town in the capital which you reside! I was befuddled, of course. This particular island has never been represented on any maps or atlases I’ve seen, but it’s real. In fact, we’re currently staying in it at this very moment!  
  
At first, I was wary because the people of the island were strange—quite abnormal and perhaps even defective. Every single person who resides on this island has no magical abilities or connections. Once I find out more, I promise to tell you everything. For now, however, I hope you are satisfied with knowing I am safe and unharmed and closely observing the behavioural patterns and survival mechanisms of these peculiar non-magical creatures. Whilst they were afraid at first, they are now treating us as guests, and I assure you I am truly safe.  
  
Still, I remain conflicted on another matter. I am uncertain if I should share this particular discovery with others, if I should do my duty and submit this newfound knowledge to the Magic Circle. Do you think your husband, the great ruler of all four kingdoms, will respond well to this knowledge? My trust in you is boundless and true, of course, but I am reluctant to spread the word about this island. Do provide me with your transcendental wisdom, Your Majesty. For the first time in my life, I have no idea what to do.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ First and foremost, I send my sincerest apologies for being unable to instantly write a response to your last letter and also, for my current wriggly penmanship. Not long after I sent off my first message, I went through another bout of my sickness. Once again, I was bedridden for weeks and was unable to immediately catch your letter and manage to reply until now. I hope I did not make you worry. If I did, do not be too concerned, my love. I’ve gone through this countless times before, and at this point in my forsaken life, I feel as though I’m already used to the constricting feeling in my chest and the occasional shortness of breath I have to go through because of this awful illness.  
  
Admittedly, I am still experiencing sudden flashes of pain in my chest at this moment, and, yes, I was only able to write this letter because I convinced my handmaidens and guards to have a rest, and as soon as they departed, I grabbed a piece of parchment and flew off into the night sky in my swan form—but rest assured, mo ghrá, I am getting better. I swear to you, I will get better.  
  
Speaking of which, have I ever told you of my subconscious tendency to curse my sickness? When I was but a child, I thought I would be seen as a powerful woman after my coronation, but that never came true. I am still treated like the most precious transport of fine glass, and I am so tired of it! These pitiful servants and peasants keep glancing my way with the most revolting pity in their eyes as if I want it! As if I asked for it! Even at my best days, they see me as my illness instead of the clever-witted woman who grasped the title of a queen in weeks! They never look at me with respect. They still believe I am a meek, whimsical child whose doom is fast approaching! I am their queen! I make sure to place the crown upon my head every single day and yet, in their eyes, I am still nothing more than a tragic case, a sad little girl with a sad little story. Frankly, I am sick of it.  
  
On numerous occasions, you’ve been dubbed as the ‘Brightest Mind of the Spellcasters’, mo ghrá. Perhaps you can tell me what it is I can do to force people into viewing my true, unadulterated self instead of the sickness they think permeates my entire being, soul, and personality.  
  
As for your recent discovery, I find myself quite intrigued. Those non-magical folk you speak of—they must be very powerful beings to endure the cruelty of life without magic for so long. I cannot even put myself in their shoes, cannot even imagine what it’s like to part from the trees, from the continuous flow of magical energy in my body. Truthfully, I do not even want to imagine it. As a Druid, I feel as though it will scar me to think of reaching out to the trees and not feeling its pulsing magic from within. Which is why I want to know more about these non-magical people. I would like to see how they are faring so well without the thing we all cannot live without.  
  
At this moment, I fear I am far too sick to draw power and wisdom from the oldest hazel tree and catch a glimpse of the future, so I apologise again, mo ghrá, for I am unable to aid you in the best way I know how. As it stands, I cannot fully predict how the court or the Magic Circle will react to this new piece of knowledge, but based on my experiences with them, the most spiritual part of me believes that they will most likely end up fearing the non-magical people. We both know what happens after senseless fears and unfounded paranoia of those in power, Hermes, and we both know that this is not the time for another war.  
  
Also, my husband, as sweet and doting as he may appear, is a dim-witted fool who cannot form relationships of the meaningful kind. He’s been the king far longer than I’ve been the queen, and still, I have accomplished so much more than he ever will in his pathetic life.  
  
I think it is in your best interest to conceal this discovery for now. Observe them. Write about them. Record everything in your journal, for now, a rúnsearc. But as your queen, I demand that you tell me every single thing you find out about them. You must satiate a woman’s curiosity, my dear.  
  
Be safe. You need to be in one piece when I reunite with me, do you understand? I will still expect you to pleasure me again—with your delectable tongue and frisky fingers, of course—once you come back to me. 

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Of course, I worry about you, Dracaena! Each week that has passed without a word from you, nothing but anxious unease consumed my mind. The thought of losing you, of living in a world without you—forgive me, my eala, but I cannot bear it. During the worst and the loneliest of my days, it is my love for you and your love for me that keeps me hanging on to this life. I apologise in advance if I seem much too obsessive of a man to you, but I fear my worries will never truly ease whenever you are away from me.  
  
And I do not want to appear as another symbol of the controlling patriarchy in your life, but… I am worried, my love. I respect and admire your intolerance against other people’s misjudgment of you, and I acknowledge the fact that you truly deserve individuality and independence and freedom above all else. However, I cannot lie and say I approve of your decision to slip past your guards and risk your health just to write to me. I want you to get well, dear eala, and if the Healers tell you to have a rest, then please rest. Although I will remain worried about your well-being, bear in mind that I will always understand your reasons behind an unpunctual response. I am not a cruel man to grudge you for simply being too unwell to send me a letter.  
  
How long were you sick this time, my precious eala? Are you getting better? Do you need me by your side? It might seem an irrational thought, but I feel as though I am to blame for your sickly state. As you’ve said, I’ve earned the title of being the most intelligent and accomplished Spellcaster in history. I’ve travelled the world and provided future learners with accurate information about the origins of magic. I’ve done all these great things, but what do they even mean when I cannot do anything to help the greatest love of my life? Should my accomplishments even be classified as such when I cannot do anything but stand back and practically watch you go through so much pain from your illness?  
  
I feel as though I shouldn’t have the luxury to stay on this island, as though I need to start my ship and gather a group of Healers all over the world to begin a new study—one that is so important to you. What do you think, mo chuisle? Should I give up trying to search for a way to combine all four magic styles? Should I attempt to seek a cure for your illness instead? To save thousands of lives?  
  
It is as if my whole life has no meaning when I cannot even help you, eala. And I know it is unseemly of me, but I cannot resist cursing the Gods whenever I think of the cruel fate they’ve forced upon you. Often, I feel the violent, senseless urge to reach out in their otherworldly abodes and wring their necks until they tell me how to get rid of your sickness.  
  
I know we’ve been told a hundred times before that it’s an impossible task to cure the illness, but do you not believe that we might have a chance against even the unimaginable?

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Hermes, mo ghrá, you are a clever individual forever blessed with the knowledge of the world. Do not ever threaten to misplace your well-earned title and calibre by even suggesting dropping everything you have worked your entire life for and starting a new study in a field with which you are not even close to being familiar!  
  
I love you, Hermes, and I want you to live out your authentic purpose and ambitions. Don’t you see? You were created by the same Gods you curse to study magic and spread your found knowledge all over the world. You were destined to be a groundbreaker, mo ghrá, someone whose name will forever be remembered in academic texts and tomes. You are an incredible man with an incredible kind of love for seeking knowledge. You are only using your gift in the best way, and I shall never resent you for that.  
  
Save your worries. I will be fine. Truthfully, I’m already feeling better with each passing day, and I will feel even better if you stay on that island and tell me more about those non-magical creatures. The last thing I want for you is to live out a passionless life because of what I’ve been cursed with. You were not created to save me, a rúnsearc, so do not deny yourself of the destiny which you were born with. With or without a cure, I swear to you that I will heal and recover, if not for myself then for you. The mere assurance of your steady breathing is enough for me to catch my own breaths, mo ghrá. Simply being aware of your love for me makes everything better. Whenever my mind drifts to girlish thoughts of you, my life suddenly isn’t as painful as it should be, and I will forever be grateful.  
  
I forbid you to talk of my sickness from the moment you receive this letter onward. Also, as your queen, I feel obligated to let you know that you’ve failed to even address my order in your most recent letter. Since I am a kind-hearted monarch and have grown to be quite fond of you, I will give you another chance to follow through my demands and provide me with all the information about your discovery. If you, once again, fail to do so, I will send off the best Elemental Warriors at my disposal to capture you and force you to tell me in person, understood? 

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Your sheer dramatics never fail to bring a smile upon my lips, my eala. I can only imagine how your petite nose turned up, how your long back straightened, and how your fingers twitched as you wrote those petty demands of yours. Have I ever mentioned how lovely you look to me? Even when we’re apart like this? Even when I cannot even gaze upon your ethereal face?  
  
I am glad that you’re doing better, and although shards of guilt still pierce my heart, I admit I am also delighted to know about your willingness to let me stay where I am truly happy. Any other person would have lashed out on me and blamed me for my inability to completely abandon my work, but you understand me, mo chuisle. You believe in me. Most importantly, you are in love with every bit of my flawed being. I want you to know that my love for you knows no conditions or bounds as well, dear eala. I simply cherish and appreciate and love you. And I feel thankful every day to have a chance feel a love like this, to feel this soothing yet powerful surge in my heart as it continues to beat for you. I miss your presence, and I love you.  
  
Now, I must go into a discussion about the non-magical people—they call themselves ‘Muggles’, actually—immediately before Her Majesty gets impatient and sends her husband’s best soldiers to capture me, am I correct?  
  
Did you know that you can use rocks to create a fire? They can make tons of things without magic! They forge weapons without magic, they cook without magic, they plant crops without magic! But then again, I suppose it’s a different kind of magic and special ability to constantly work hard and be able to survive this long.  
  
Trust me, my eala, these ‘Muggles’ are so incredibly independent. Truly, I have never realised how much we depend on our magic before I met them. Nowadays, I refrain from using any magic at all, for I want to know what it is like to live in their shoes.  
  
They live the same way as we do. Of course, they communicate with each other using a different dialect, but they can also perfectly understand and speak English! From what I’ve gathered, they are more than capable of intelligent thought and are even aware of the existence of magic and other ‘Muggles’. To be honest, I do not see much difference between us and them. From what I am seeing, the only thing that separates us is their inability to wield magic.  
  
They even have deities of their own, Dracaena! This particular group of ‘Muggles’ I’ve been living with for the last moon cycle or so believes that mankind came from the stars. They worship the night sky and believe that the dark fabric on which the stars and moon rest exists to guide them here on Earth. At first, I found their beliefs laughable—how can anybody put so much trust and faith in a concept that does not even bless them with magic? Then I realised I was a fool and that my prior interpretations of ‘blessings’ are completely different from theirs. And I must admit that whilst I still cannot find any truth to their beliefs, they seem to be driven by their faith in the stars, and I quite admire that.  
  
From now on, I refuse to call them as my own discovery. They are not mere experiments or components to a study, my eala. They are as human as we are—perhaps even more so because of their inability to achieve something with a flick of the hand, or a quick whisper to the trees, or a single swish of a wand, or even a pattern of ancient runes. And I thoroughly respect them enough to avoid treating them like objects.  
  
I fear I have to cut this letter short, mo chuisle. I have important matters to discuss with my crew at this moment, but I will write to you again soon, I promise.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Oh, mo ghrá! I cannot take any more of your words! Forgive me if I offend you, but I’m afraid I cannot permit you to continue speaking of your passions any longer. Why, you may ask? Well, it’s simply because I would prefer it if you tell me all of this in person. I want to see you beam before me, mo ghrá. Only imagining your shifting expressions is not enough to satiate my heart any longer.  
  
When you talk with excitement, you light up, and I crave that so much that there is nothing in this world I want to see more than your ocean-like eyes getting caught in a daze as you prattle away about your beloved studies. I wish there is a way for me to summon your face, your body, your everything with magic, so I can fall in love with you every night you’re not here.  
  
Can you believe it, love? I long for every part of you now—even sides to your complex personality that normally vex me. Some nights, I even find myself opening a book or two to somehow immerse myself in your essence. I never thought it was possible to miss another living entity this much, but I do miss you, mo ghrá. I miss your calloused hands, your handsome face, your sweet mouth, your unkempt hair, and your lithe body above me most especially. I wish you can return as soon as I will it, but I know you and your goals and purpose, and I will never be too selfish or cruel to take you away from what you love doing.  
  
I don’t know if I am simply feverish or going out of my mind, but I even miss doing the most basic things with you. My eyes miss your breathtaking form. Did you know that after we would make love before you left, I sometimes let my eyes wander all over you and wonder if a mystical being has captured my heart? My ears miss your deep voice and your meaningful words. My nose misses your earthly scent and how it never fails to remind me of the swamps and lakes back home. My lips miss your own, miss how they seem to escort me to the heavenly skies every time you kiss me.  
  
The longer you are gone, the wider the hole within my chest becomes. Being without you is extremely difficult now that I have had almost all of you, and I fear the inevitable day when I won’t be able to bear living a half-life without you any longer.  
  
Forgive me for being unable to correspond with you about the ‘Muggles’, but this feeling I have for you is far too overwhelming to ignore. 

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Your love letter came as a pleasant surprise. After the arduous day of never-ending labour I just endured, your words felt like a soothing balm. Truly, you’ve caused my spirits to lift and brighten. Thank you, my lovely eala. Once again, you have proven yourself to be the only shining light in the dark lonely place that is my life.  
  
Needless to say, I miss you as well, mo chuisle. And I was touched to know that you are as eager to see my face as I am to see yours. If I can somehow snatch you from the castle without being slaughtered by your kingly husband, I swear I would do it and take you everywhere I go. I want you to see the geographical boundaries and features of this beautiful world with me. I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine in all meanings of the word. After your heart-warming letter, nothing feels more right than connecting with you in every possible way. Will you allow me to do so, my queen? Will you allow me to sweep you off your feet and give you what you deserve?  
  
If you were here with me, we would make love underneath the gleaming stars every night. We would dance whilst standing on a wooden boat in the middle of the ocean, and I would make sure you will feel every crashing of the waves as the embodiment of the chaotic yet sincere love I feel for you. We would let the blazing sun make fire out of our human flesh, and I would use my lips and my tongue to put out your searing skin. Would you like that, dear eala? Would you like me to leave salacious marks of utter bliss upon the tantalising heat between your legs with my mouth?  
  
When I say I miss you, I mean I miss the wholeness that comes over me whenever you are lying in my arms. I miss the spectacularly joyful man I become around you. I miss the way my heart—seemingly ripped apart by innumerable loss, abandonment, and loneliness—stitches itself back together whenever you’re near. You are the only person whose departure never scares me, for whilst the thought of your breaking away from me makes my throat full of emotion, I am most certain that it is simply not possible for you to do so. My trust for you and our love is immeasurable, and I do not know whether I’m growing desperate or what, but something tells me you will never be like the others. Somehow, even without prior research on the matter, I know that you were made for me and that I was made for you.  
  
You know of my beliefs. You are aware that I am not the kind of man who puts his whole trust in fate and destiny, but with you, everything is different. With you, I do not have to do anything for everything to make sense. Everything already does, and perhaps the reason why I am so sure of this is because of the strange occurring dreams I have about us in a completely different time. Do you experience dreams such as that, my eala? I’m ashamed to admit that I have no idea what is going on. Enlighten me, mo chuisle.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Sir Hermes Lancaster of the Spellcasters, I apologise once more for being unable to write off an immediate response to your last letter. As the Queen of the Four Magical Kingdoms, I make a formal promise to you that this will be the last time I will make you wait. I truly am sorry, mo ghrá. I was busy this past moon cycle, and I will do my best to explain and make it up to you wholeheartedly.  
  
As you know, the yearly Fire Festivals are fast-approaching, and I am legally required to follow through the Elementals’ traditions and customs during this time of the year. The Elementals strongly believe that the best time to conceive is during the upcoming festivals, for they claim that fire brings abundant fertility and life. The Magic Circle especially has been attempting to convince me that it would be the best time to bear an heir for my husband—to secure the throne with a child.  
  
Of course, my dear husband—the spineless excuse for a king that he is—does not feel the need to put a stop to the Circle’s irritating insistence. At this point, I am genuinely perplexed as to how the king still manages to be the same imbecile I met years ago even with my influence. I pride myself on being a woman of many talents, but I’m afraid I have to give up on this tragic case. King Waldorf is a lost cause. Even I cannot help him any longer. Not that I ever wanted to.  
  
Now, I know what you are thinking, and I must tell you to stop right now. Your anger and jealousy have no place here, a rúnsearc. You needn’t fight my battles for me. I am a capable woman, and after weeks of tremendous effort, I’ve successfully thrown the Magic Circle off my back. Who are they to dictate me, anyway? They’re nothing but a sad collective of so-called powerful magic-users all over the four kingdoms, and I am their queen. I am above them.  
  
And I am also above sleeping with my husband. The first time your fingers grazed my hand, I knew I wouldn’t be able to be with anyone else again. Nor will I find pleasure in another man’s touch again. There is no greater pleasure than the one you give me, mo ghrá, and the thought of even touching others repulses me.  
  
Speaking of which, I miss you, Hermes. Every inch of my skin itches for your fingers, and believe me when I say that I was on the cusp of death a few days prior because of the intense longing I feel for you. Everything hurts, love, and I want you to make me feel better again.  
  
Occasionally, I think that I am to blame for this painful love. After miserable nights, I realised that we might not be so far from each other if I just hadn’t acted so irrationally in my youth. I think this immense torture I feel when I would miss you is the Gods’ punishment to me for doing atrocious things to achieve power. I seduced King Waldorf when he was promised to another because I wanted to be respected at last, and what did it cost me?  
  
I know my thoughts may seem disorganised and nonsensical, but I just cannot help but wonder if living a life without freely becoming one with you is the Mórrígan’s way of torturing me for my endless thirst for more. What do you think, mo ghrá? If I am correct, then I apologise again. I am so sorry for stripping away our freedom to love each other. I should’ve waited for you back then. I should’ve sat still and listened closely to the hypnotising calling of the trees. _I should have married you._  
  
Anyway, I want you to know that I see you in my dreams as well. We both look different there, don’t we? But even with your varied appearance, somehow I am still certain that it is you that keeps appearing in my sleep. The most frequent version I’ve seen of you from my dreams is a woman from centuries ago—a female warrior with shaved hair and brown skin. Although I’m quite certain we were on the same side, you would spit the harshest words to me, and I would just let you. Have you seen me there also, mo ghrá? Did we exist and love many times before this lifetime? Is that why loving you is so easy? Because I’ve done it a million times before?

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_  
  
Do not ever blame yourself for our less-than-favourable situation. Divination or not, neither one of us could have foreseen this romance. Truth be known, I have never even deemed myself a man worthy of love as great as this before I met you. Most of my life I’ve spent alone, and I assumed that it would stay that way until my very last breath, but then I saw you in the forest that day—do you remember? You approached me of your own accord in your swan form, seemingly stuck in the same daze as I was, and you shifted back to your human form right in front of me. To this day, I count that experience as the single most majestic moment in my life.  
  
My point is, you are not to blame for the deceptive and secretive nature of our relationship. If you are, then I suppose I am at fault as well.  
  
Have I ever told you that I was supposed to be one of the four binders at your wedding ceremony seven years ago? Your then-betrothed personally sent me a letter detailing how honoured he would feel if ‘the greatest Spellcaster alive’ performed the Blood-Binding Spell for his wedding. But, of course, I declined in the end as I felt like I wouldn’t have the magical strength to perform such a tremendously gruelling spell. Not to mention, I felt as though I was constantly battling with myself back then, as though I was trapped in the bone-chilling abyss of misery and isolation. I simply did not have the mental fortitude nor the enthusiasm, really, to attend frivolous matters such as weddings, festivals, and other celebrations.  
  
Your most recent letter kept me coming back to that time, however, and I cannot resist the temptation to fall into a never-ending pit of self-loathing and start asking myself impossible questions. What if I agreed to do that wretched spell for your wedding? What if I arrived in the capital seven years ago and saw you then? What if we fell in love days before your royal wedding, and I could’ve cast the Blood-Binding Spell on us so that we will never have to part? So that we will never have to hide in shadowy nooks and unknown places again? So that our love will never have to be questioned?  
  
I apologise gravely, my eala. I am so sorry for not giving us that chance, and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive a selfish and flawed man like me. If you do, I swear to forgive you as well. Let us both take responsibility in causing ourselves unnecessary tragedy and heartache.  
  
Do you understand me, mo chuisle? If you think your actions led to us constantly having to move about in the dark, then I have no choice but to proclaim that my actions also contributed to that. After all, our destiny is intertwined, lovely eala. And our recurring dreams only further prove my theory to be correct.  
  
Do you think the same, eala? Do you think that these dreams we keep seeing are sweet vignettes from the lives we lived before? I beg of you to reassure me, to tell me that our souls and the love flowing between us are everlasting and even possibly endless. Tell me that you love me now and that you will love me again in a lifetime that’s different from ours. Tell me that I am not a crazed man. Tell me you believe in this, in us, too.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Yes, I do believe, mo ghrá. I will forever put my all in our love. In my homeland, we believe that there are certain connections between two souls that transcend lifetimes. These connections are said to be stronger together than they are apart. I might just be falling deeply into girlish fantasies again, but I think we might be examples of those souls. I think we are lost and meaningless when halved and distanced but if we merged and realised our rightful destiny, then nothing in this world would hold the ability to stop our love again.  
  
That is why I am pleading for you to come home to me now. I need you, Hermes, and if our dreams are real, then why don’t we honour the memory of our previous lives by coming together again? I miss you too much, and everything hurts too much. I cannot handle it any longer. Several moon cycles have passed since you left me, and I am breaking in two at the thought of being without you for longer. Please return soon, mo ghrá. I cannot bear this pain anymore.  
  
I want to spend my sleepless nights with you. I want to discover our previous lives with you. I want you to read to me until I cannot break myself out of the stupor your husky voice has put me in. Let us learn our history, my love. Together.  
  
Please come back to the woman you once called home. I need you. I miss you. I love you. Return to me as soon as you can, and I swear to greet you in the piers, to hold a feast in your honour, and to let you use me for your pleasure every night. I love you. 

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Your adoring words have turned my heart into goo. At this moment, my love for you is simply much too grand and otherworldly to be put into words using the imprecise language we imperfect beings created to communicate. This love has grown out of my reach, and even though I often express my dislike for lack of control, I somehow enjoy it when it’s about you. Love, the one thing that mankind still struggle to define, is suddenly easy to comprehend whenever I think of you. Love with you is not based on materialistic objects and temporary concepts. Instead, it is eternal and as genuine as the blue skies above me. It is indescribable. It is unstoppable. It is nought but destiny’s will itself.  
  
My dear eala, sometimes I think even the stars themselves align for our love to be given the smallest of chances. Sometimes I realise that whilst I believe the Gods have cursed me with loneliness on numerous occasions, they are still fond of me. From what I’ve seen, they think that I deserve your unconditional love at the very least, and they would cause certain circumstances to occur just for us to relish in the undying affections between us, and I cannot be more grateful. I feel like this is one of those circumstances. It is either your timing is impeccable or the Gods are watching our epic romance from above and are growing impatient.  
  
Four days before I received your letter, the Muggles forced me out of their home and my crew—the fourth one I’ve had—has decided to abandon me in the middle of the ocean with nothing but a raft and a makeshift paddle in hand. I was so lost in my head again. I sense that after countless betrayals and abandonments, I am beginning to fear the very concept of it—of people leaving me behind and isolating me. But my genial mind starts conjuring images of you that I have ingrained in my memory and pulled me back up from the utter darkness I was about to throw myself into. I want you to know that you are the brightest light in every tunnel I get lost in, eala, and my love for you will remain as blinding as the positivity you’ve brought into my life.  
  
When I saw your owl seemingly descend from the heavens, I knew you have come to save me again. In your own way.  
  
I feel this is the sign I’ve been waiting my entire life for, mo chuisle. For the first time, I do not have science or academics to back up my decision, but still, I know in my heart that this is the right one.  
  
I am finally coming home, Dracaena. Wait for me.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ Ever since I read your last letter, it feels like my entire body has been set alight, inflamed by the aching desire only you can place in me as I anticipate your return. The heat between my thighs intensifies each day, as though the inner workings of my body is connected to yours and is aware of the narrowing distance between us. My body knows you are coming soon, mo ghrá, and I can hardly wait for the day of your arrival.  
  
Because of the growing, almost sinful lust within me, I have been left with no choice but to bring myself to pleasure every night. But even though I reach my peak, the hunger still refuses to be quelled. Even as I think of you, I am still not completely satiated. You have ruined me in the best way possible, Hermes, and I fear that I will never know true pleasure again without you aiding me towards it.  
  
When you return, the first thing I will do is tend to your emotional scars and intangible wounds. I swear to heal you with the magic that is embedded in my soul. I swear to kneel before you as soon as night falls and let my lips open for you. Then, I will heal you with my hands, ensuring to let the tips of fingers graze every inch of your flesh. I will take your pulsating hardness into my mouth and worship you as you deserve. And when you reach the brink of bliss, I will let your seed pass down my throat and take its warmth, its taste, as a blessing from the Gods who have been too kind to let me have you but also, too cruel to force us to hide.  
  
I would also like to show you how my dainty fingers strum the gleaming pearl between my legs, the one you’ve claimed to be yours so many times. I want you to see how I pleasure myself and how it is impossible to reach the heavenly gates of utter satisfaction without your help. Afterwards, I will offer up myself to you and ask you to feast on my dripping quim. Will you accept, mo ghrá? Will you promise to kiss me and run your tongue along the spots that cause me to whimper in delight?  
  
I hope you can sense that I’ve been touching myself as I write this letter and that I brought myself over another anticlimactic edge just now.  
  
I now realise that it is utterly uncouth and improper of me to write these filthy thoughts on parchment, but I suppose it would be a waste if I throw it away now, right? Besides, you enjoy my dirty mouth, don’t you, beloved? As much as I enjoy yours?  
  
Come home already. Being without you feels like dying now, and I promise myself that I will never breathe my last breath without one last kiss from you. Come home, love. Lend me your kiss of life.

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter)_ _  
_ _  
_ In all the months I was gone, nothing has changed. You are still the same cruel, merciless woman who takes pleasure in torturing me.  
  
Fuck. You’ve completely ruined me, Dracaena. Do you truly believe that I am an all-powerful being with endless restraint and control? Can you not see that I am as mortal as any man, as unhinged when pushed to the limits, and as arrested by the sweetest temptation that is you? I hope you know my fingers tremble as I write this. I hope you know that my mind—my greatest weapon—has completely surrendered itself to made-up explicit images of your maddening descriptions.  
  
Tell me, eala, are you still as tight as the last time I filled you? Do your nether lips still flush a pretty pink when you’re nearing your peak? Can I still expect a river of your sweet essence flooding your folds after you scream out my name in pleasure? Tell me you will still be ready for me, and I will take you in front of your husband’s guards as soon I set foot in the capital.  
  
Although I already lack energy because of the scarcity of food and drinkable water, I still manage to hold my hard member in my grip and stroke myself to thoughts of you. How do you do this to me, lovely eala? How do you continue to catch me off-guard and turn me helpless?  
  
Do not worry, mo chuisle. Once we are reunited, I am willing to do anything you ask of me. If it’s my mouth on your quim you want, then I will gladly spread your legs and use my lips and tongue until you beg me to stop. And if you want to return the favour, be my guest. All I ask in return is for you to let me do whatever I please as well.  
  
Would you like to know what I want to do when we meet again, Dracaena? I want to feel your velvet walls gripping my length. I want to take your lovely breasts in my hands, to kiss your pink nipples, and to leave my handprints all over your flesh. I want to lean back against your most sacred tree and watch you bounce on my lap.  
  
Do you think the Gods will like us then, my eala? Do you think they will still allow you to break your vows and watch as I defile you on their blessed grounds? Will you even care by then? Will you still have the ability to conjure coherent thoughts as I harshly drive home into your tight, wet heat? If so, then let me do it again and again and again. Until we are both mindless and numb from bliss, let my hips thrust into yours and let our souls connect. Let me make love to you in every room of that damned castle. Let me leave marks on your decadent, pale skin. Let me love you in all ways I know how.  
  
And once it’s all over, once we are as empty as the stars we are born as, let me make a home out of this, out of us—out of the shards of broken glass that make up our relationship. Or at the very least, let a man live peacefully in hopeful, wholesome imaginings. Do not threaten to kill me by sending such a graphic letter again. I do not think I will be able to bear it next time. I love you, Dracaena, but do not ever torture me like this again.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (note)_ _  
_ _  
_ To Sir Hermes Lancaster of the Spellcasters,  
  
Welcome back to the capital! I was delighted to see that, regardless of the unfortunate events preceding your arrival, you have made it here safely and in one piece. Of course, I am inclined to apologise for King Waldorf’s absence when you arrived. He left for the Kingdom of Runes a week prior because of rising conflicts and was unable to greet you. However, I hope I was a good enough substitute. I only want to make my guests feel welcome, and I hope that the small feast I arranged in your honour did your prestige and reputation justice.  
  
Are the guards and servants I have assigned to you treating and serving you well? Report to me at once if even the smallest mistakes are made by them, and I will do everything I can to amend whatever error may occur. After all, there is nothing on this Earth I wish more than to be as accommodating as possible to my formal guests. That being said, would you like to join me for a light supper later in my personal garden at a time of your choosing? No guards or servants need to be present, of course. There is nothing amiss about two acquaintances catching up over tea, is there? I know you are fascinated by magically-grown plants and trees, and I would simply like for you to familiarise yourself again with my garden.  
  
Yours Sincerely,  
Dracaena Ó Nuallain, Queen of the Four Magical Kingdoms.

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (note)_ _  
_ _  
_ To Dracaena Ó Nuallain of the Druids, Queen of the Four Magical Kingdoms,  
  
Good day to you, Your Majesty! I feel honoured to have received such a personal note from the queen herself! I truly do not deserve it. And I more than loved the small celebrations you’ve arranged for my arrival. It is not every day I get to greet a beautiful queen after an exhausting journey, and the moment I saw you standing so gracefully on the shores as my boat drew closer, it felt like a medal in itself.  
  
Truth be known, your appearance alarmed me at first. You seemed to have lost a lot of weight in the months I was gone, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve assumed you were only standing because of the surrounding guards that day. You looked waifish with a gaunt face and an unhealthy pale complexion. Is it because of your sickness, my queen? I know I don’t ought to be so, but I am concerned for your well-being. Do not be offended by my straightforward words, however. I’m certain you are still viewed as the most beautiful woman in all four kingdoms. More importantly, I remain firm on my belief that you are the personification of the heavens whose beauty is ethereal and otherworldly.  
  
Who am I to refuse such a polite invitation? As your humble servant, I feel inclined—and also delighted—to accept your offer for me to sup with you in your personal gardens. Does later this evening work for you, my lady? Perhaps we can watch the sun sleep and the moon rise together as we dip our toes in your precious pools. What I look forward to seeing the most is, of course, your fascinating swan form. Why don’t you try to teach me how to fly again, Your Majesty?  
  
Regards,  
Hermes Lancaster of the Spellcasters.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (note)_  
  
To Sir Hermes Lancaster of the Spellcasters,  
  
I am sorry for being unable to send you a formal thank you note for your last visit to my gardens five days ago. I’m afraid my sickness has got the better of me again and forced me to lie in bed until I get better. I also apologise for disturbing you once again with what-must-be my hundredth note this past moon cycle, but I have to tell you something of grave importance.  
  
I have reason to believe that some of our servants and guards have caught on to our nightly rendezvous. Please do not be panicked by this. I will tell you everything soon, and I promise I will make things right. Besides, we have nothing to fear, right? We are merely two acquaintances discussing magical theories over tea.  
  
Incidentally, I have enjoyed my nighttime meetings with you. You have truly made a night owl out of me, and before I got sick again, I often find myself unable to stick to most of my early morning plans. You have wreaked havoc into my world once again, Sir Hermes, and I am still as thankful as ever. Allow me to thank you properly in my gardens tonight after the sun has set.  
  
Yours Sincerely,  
Dracaena Ó Nuallain, Queen of the Four Magical Kingdoms.

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter, unreceived)_ _  
_ _  
_ Dracaena, my eala, I don’t even know if you will be able to get a hold of this letter, but I am so sorry. This is all my fault, beloved. I am so sorry.  
  
I should’ve put up magical wards that night. Did you know I also invented a tracking spell of sorts? One that will let me know if someone or something steps into the vicinity of the spell? I am the most celebrated, most intelligent man in the world, yet I am still a cursed fool at heart. I got too comfortable, and I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have been caught that night. We shouldn’t have been separated. I should still be there for you, taking care of you now that you need me the most. I am a complete and utter failure. And I am so sorry. I hope you can still forgive me after everything that has occurred. I hope you can still love me even if I caused our relationship to shatter before our very eyes. I am so sorry, Dracaena. I love you.  
  
Will you even receive news of my punishment? Or do you not need fickle words from others? Can you tell that I am far away again by the burning pain seeping into your heart? Because I can. I can feel every bit of the distance between us. I have no idea where I am heading, but I already know I’ll hate it. I don’t even know if other kingdoms will accept me for what I’ve done. They called me names whilst I was escorted away from the capital, did you know that? They think of me as the worst of all sinners. An adulterer. A manwhore. Someone who does not deserve the least bit of respect.  
  
Don’t you worry. I know I deserve those names after I failed to protect us. I just hope you know I do not and will never blame you for this. It is I who should take the blame. I was the one who failed to secure the gardens. I was the one who kissed you and confirmed what was once speculation. And I am so sorry.  
  
Two days into my banishment and I miss you already. I cannot even return to the capital now. I will not be able to see you again—your precious smile, your beautiful eyes, your lovely body. Two days into being separated from you and it already feels as though I am already dead. My heart aches, but at the same time, I am numb from tears and pain. Is this what it’s like to break away from you? Is this what it’s like to lose you permanently? Dracaena, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.  
  
I think of you every day. The last time I saw you, you were already weakening and barely able to stand, and I wasn’t even allowed to be there for you and lift you. Does the separation make things worse for you, my lovely swan? Do I cause you more pain? I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Please forgive me, Dracaena. I love you more than what’s possible, and I am so sorry.  
  
All hope is lost now, but I will see you again, I promise. I do not know how I will uphold that promise, but be comforted in the fact that I am a man of my word, and I will never disappoint you again.  
  
Please be strong for me, for yourself. Do not let your cursed sickness win. Fight for us, mo chuisle. Fight until the very end as I swear to do. 

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter, unreceived)_ _  
_ _  
_ After Waldorf returned, my father immediately informed him about us. He almost lost restraint and hit me when he found out, but he wasn’t even man enough to punish me properly.  
  
He pities me, I know it. My sickness has worsened ever since you left. I cannot even climb off my bed without collapsing in pain. I am weak, and the King took advantage of this by locking me up in my bedchambers. I am not permitted to leave. My father says it’s because the court’s vehement reaction to our affair would only make me even sicker. I’m not sure if I believe him.  
  
I hate it here. I hate being stuck in this room. Did you know that I should’ve been banished with you, but the King, by the kindness of his craven heart, told me he thinks it is a worse torture for me to live out the rest of my life without you? He is correct, of course. Death by execution would’ve been a sweet release, something that will free me from the trapping bites of my illness and my mistakes. Being forced to sit on my bed as my heart breaks—in both literal and metaphorical meanings of the word—and my lungs slowly surrender, on the other hand, makes me a helpless woman. Even my guards, handmaidens, and servants look at me with revulsion in their eyes. I cannot even imagine how the Magic Circle and the rest of the court would look at me. All I am sure of is, I’ve lost all the respect I worked so hard to gain. Worst of all, I lost the greatest love of my life.  
  
I miss you again, mo ghrá. My body, gradually shutting down from heartache and my illness, longs for you still, and the thought of never being able to see you again terrifies me.  
  
I cry every night. Why, you ask? Sometimes, my mind is consumed by dangerous, suicidal thoughts, and I break under the pressure of death. Sometimes, I think of you so far away again, this time with no way of getting back to me, and I beg to the Gods that blessed me with you to let us come together once again. I pray for my strength to return, so I can escape this hellish abyss and be with you again. At this moment, I am already too weak to even transform into my swan form. I apologise, mo ghrá, for being too weak. As it turned out, I am as feeble as the Healers said. I am as pathetic and as helpless as they all said I was. I just couldn’t see it before because of the red-tinted pride covering my eyes.  
  
Farewell, for now. The bones in my hand feel like they are going to collapse on me any time soon, and as much as I hate admitting it, I need to rest if I want to rise to my feet again and look for you. I know you will not receive this letter, but I want to say that you are my motivation for everything. I love you. 

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter, unreceived)_ _  
_ _  
_ Sometimes, I ask myself, “why am I still writing as though you will still be receiving my letters?”, but it seems that I cannot find the correct answer. So far, I’ve written twenty-seven letters, all addressed to you. The funny thing is, I have only sent three of them to the capital. I know you did not receive them. I know you would’ve responded months ago if you had.  
  
After realising you won’t be able to reply, I kept all of my letters in a small glass case with a swan crest. I promise I will keep them until I die, and when my heart beats its last thump against my chest, I promise to give them to you in our next lifetimes, in our next chance. Whatever may happen, I swear you will read those letters, my eala, and you will love them. I suspect you might laugh at my admittedly terrible attempts at poetry though, but I suppose I will just have to deal with that. Besides, I know you’ll enjoy them. No matter how many times you’ll say otherwise.  
  
When I left the capital, I had hopes of keeping track of your well-being through widespread gossip and news, but it seems that I am not even privy to that. Truthfully, the last I’ve heard of you is when I visited your home town. An old seamstress was kind enough to tell me that the King announced you were still alive a few weeks ago. If I were being honest though, I did not need her assurance of your living status. Somehow, I know you’re alive by feeling your rushing blood under my skin, by closing my eyes and catching a fleeting glimpse of what you’re seeing. I know it’s you because I’ve certainly never heard my own heart pumping blood before. I wonder, do you feel like that sometimes as well? Like we are connected? Like you and I are one of the same? Tell me I’m not going mad, mo chuisle. Tell me you can also feel me underneath your own skin. Please, tell me I am not making this up.  
  
I just left the Kingdom of Druids, by the way. The innkeeper practically shooed me out, telling me that I’m bad for business. People from all over the world believe that I took advantage of you, that I hurt and used you for evil intentions. I don’t even bother to correct them any longer. I am intelligent enough to recognise others’ distrust, am I not? And I know when to leave.  
  
Now that I’ve caused our relationship to fall apart, I am once again the loneliest man in the world. Everyone and everything I’ve ever known has abandoned me now, and there is nothing left for me to do but accept the fact that I was, perhaps, destined to be alone.  
  
Have I ever told you of my secret fear of the ocean? Its depths and hidden creatures scare me, but also, I am afraid of the unpredictable waves swallowing me whole. I am afraid of jumping in and never resurfacing, of sinking to the abyss and being forgotten by unforgiving time. Oddly enough, the ocean plays a crucial role in my life. I’ve sailed, swam, and voyaged. And after my accomplishments crashed and burned around me, I come back to the seas as though it’s the home I have been aching to claim as my own for so long, as though it’s the haven I’ve failed to recognise before now.  
  
Frankly, I’ve never thought of the ocean as my home, never even considered until a few weeks ago when I looked out into the blue depths, the humid air whispering in my ear and the water softly crashing into my wooden ship, and heard the melodic sound of your heartbeat—the sweetest song I’ve ever encountered—gently thrumming behind my ear. I try to hear it every moment of silence now, and when I succeed in tuning out other sounds and listening in to the soft lub-dubs of your heart, I cry. I cry because knowing you’re alive and well is enough to keep _me_ breathing and hopeful. For now.

* * *

_From Dracaena Ó Nuallain to Hermes Lancaster (letter, unreceived)_ _  
_ _  
_ How many moon cycles have passed ever since we were separated? I feel as though I’ve lost track of time. To me, there is no difference between night and day, tomorrow and today any longer. Various aspects of reality have merged, and now that I cannot do anything but lie in my bed, everything I have ever known and ever dreamt of is beginning to blur together. I fear the one day in the future when I cannot find the fine line between what’s real and what’s in my head anymore. Until that day comes, I suppose I should just learn to appreciate everything more. Especially you. After all, you are the one thing that keeps me sane.  
  
I miss the times when I see you in my dreams every night. Now, you never show up in them, not even when I’m certain the dream correlates to our relationship. When I first realised you are not returning to my dreams any time soon, I panicked and cried and trembled. I ended up on the floor, deathly still and shocked and unable to breathe. I only survived because the servants came to bring my food and found me there, but… is it wrong of me to think that perhaps it’s better if I did not live? If I just succumbed to the darkness that has been pulling at my ankles ever since I was birthed into this world?  
  
I’m sorry; I know you hate it when I think like that. I just can’t help but wonder sometimes even though I know it’s wrong. I’m sorry. When pain from my sickness and my heartache all but take over my body, I get trapped in this dark place and admittedly, there are times when I almost give in to that darkness and find an odd comfort in it, but something always pulls me back up. That something is you, of course. It has always been you.  
  
Do you know what’s strange? On my worst days, you always seem to be there for me. I feel your phantom touch on my skin, your ghostly whispers in my ear, and your emotions, barely-there yet always so intense. Is it because of the connection between our two souls? Is that why, even when we are apart, I still know everything I need to know about you?  
  
At this point, I don’t even want to question it anymore. I just want to thrive in it, in the pure love flowing between our two helpless souls. It is the one thing that I can firmly grip on when I feel myself beginning to slip away, after all. Oh, have I not inform you of such occasion before, mo ghrá? Well, it is only the truth. Whenever pain gets the better of me and takes me below even the deepest roots, somewhere so far away from exuberant life, your rampant emotions pulsing beneath mine are the ones who give back my lost breaths and cause blood to surge freely in my veins once again. And although my health is worsening by the minute, I hope your pulse underlying my own in my chest is enough to keep me alive for more days, because I do not think I will be able to bear death without you. In fact, I do not want to go there without you by my side. I do not want to leave you. Ever.  
  
I love you, Hermes Lancaster. You are my true love. Let us make like vines and intertwine forever.

* * *

_From Hermes Lancaster to Dracaena Ó Nuallain (letter, unreceived)_ _  
_ _  
_ I found residence on the island of Muggles I told you about back when we were happy. They told me that I was welcome to come here anytime, that it was only my crew who brought nothing but disrespect on their most sacred grounds. For the umpteenth time, I wish you were here with me. I know you will love it here. I know you’ll find peace within the forests and the animals that live there. If you were here, perhaps you’d even make friends with the swans that decorate the lake. Perhaps we’d marry under a full moon and a sky full of glimmering stars, and I would have the privilege to make love to you freely, without inhibitions, on the sandy shores of the beach as small waves crash over our heated bodies.  
  
I miss you more and more every day. There is not a single second that passes without you dashing across my head in the form of a hopeless, desperate thought. I love you so much and it hurts. All those years I spent without you, how did I survive? How did I manage to breathe and to live properly without something as great as you in my life? A part of me longs to go back to an easier time when I did not know true love, but the few fleeting moments I spent with you are so precious that I cannot find it in myself to let them go—no matter how much it hurts now to continue holding on.  
  
My life has lost meaning the moment I realised I’m never going to see your beautiful face again. I cannot pick up my studies any longer. No book entertains me like it used to. I’ve lost the ability to deeply connect with other living beings. I am merely a shell, an abandoned, cracked little thing with no vision for better things. Heartbreak and loneliness are all that’s left of me. When I sit by a tree that reminds me of you, away from others, it almost feels as though I’ve ceased to exist at all, and it almost feels like utter bliss until I remember that true happiness is not a possibility for me any longer—not when you’re not here.  
  
Well, I’ve got to sleep now, lovely eala. Before you vanished from my dreams, I look forward to falling into slumber. Now that you’re gone, sleep is yet another chore I am obligated to accomplish. I hope that is not the case for you. I hope that you’re doing better and feeling better than I do. I hope you are happy and healthy and safe most of all. It is only what you deserve, after all. 

* * *

_Dracaena Ó Nuallain’s last letter to Hermes Lancaster (sent through a rare form of Druidic magic, received)_ _  
_ _  
_ As I press my palm against my most adored aspen tree, let my last words be sent through the deep connection of rooted trees until they reach Hermes Lancaster. Gods, allow me to use the remaining magic I have left in me to communicate with my lover for the last time. Using an ancient form of Druidic magic, let my message pass through my right hand into the aspen tree and all the way to the tree or flower or plant nearest to my love.  
  
Hermes? Are you there, mo ghrá? Can you see my words? Please read carefully, mo ghrá; I don’t know if my message will fade or not. Can you believe it? I’ve actually succeeded in a lost form of Druidic magic. Are you proud of me, love?  
  
My father has granted my dying wish and carried me to my favourite aspen tree in my garden a few moments ago. He was crying whilst he brought me here, can you believe that? What a sentimental old fool.  
  
Currently, I am pressing my entire body into the wood, desperate for you to see my last message. This will be my last words, mo ghrá, and I hope this is not another failed attempt to reach you.  
  
Wherever you are, I hope you are safe and well. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Do not slip away after I pass, understood? Do not waste away the rest of your life for some sick girl. When I die, I want you to continue living your dreams as if nothing has happened. I want you to live a full life, mo ghrá. Most importantly, I want you to be happy.  
  
After all the moons that have passed, I am still irrevocably in love with you. Of course, our souls are bonded, so it’s only natural for me to love you, right? It is only normal for me to look up into the blue hues of the skies and be reminded of your glamorous eyes. It is only right that every time I mumble your name, elation jolts my entire body, and for the shortest of moments, I feel almost alive again, as if I’m not sick and you’re still with me.  
  
Also, I am deeply sorry for what has become of our relationship. If I had known I was to meet a man like you, I wouldn’t have married the King. I shouldn’t have done it, in the first place. I should’ve just waited for you. If I had, I could be spending my last moments here on the mortal world in your arms. I’m sorry, mo ghrá. I’m sorry for not fighting for our love hard enough. After we’ve been discovered in my gardens, I just succumbed to my illness and never fought back against those who took you away from me. I’m sorry. I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve fought and fought until our love no longer has to hide in the dark side of the moon. I should have stayed strong until we can dance and love with no care under the blinding rays of the sun. I apologise for being weak. I promise I will do better in our next lives. If there is such a thing as reincarnation.  
  
Do you think that there’s a second chance for us there, mo ghrá? Do you think I’ll be able to love you there? Gods, I hope so. I hope I can experience a lifetime with you. And if there is such thing as a reincarnation of souls, I promise to be strong next time. I promise I would be able to fight for you and protect you and love you. I promise I will be better.  
  
For now, however, just take my last words and bury them in your heart. Remember me until your dying breath, and whilst I exhale my last, do not shed a tear for the tragedy of it all. Just be happy, Hermes, and I swear everything will be alright.  
  
I suppose I have to say my last farewell now, mo ghrá. Death is clutching my wrists, pulling at my limbs and taking me away from the light, and I’m sorry, but I have to go. Just know that my love for you transcends the borders of life and death. Don’t you worry; I will forever watch over you, and we will see each other again. I love you.

* * *

Somewhere on an island filled with humans who unfortunately do not bear the gift of magic, Hermes Lancaster stares, wide-eyed and shockingly still, at the palm tree in front of him, a lone tear falling out of his eye as the last word of his lover’s last message gets magically engraved into the wood.  
  
Later, when sobs wrack his frame, he carves out the part of the tree where Dracaena Ó Nuallain’s entire dying letter stays embedded and places the piece of wood in an embellished box when he finds the strength to murmur his salutations to the heavens and return home.

* * *

_A page taken from the earliest draft of Hermes Lancaster’s third research journal_ _  
_ _  
_ I have just departed the island of Muggles. Strangely enough, the Muggles have prepared a ceremony of sorts for my leaving. They seem to be quite fond of me. I believe they think of me as one of their own, and if I wasn’t in a dark place in my head, I would’ve felt honoured. But, of course, that is not the subject of this journal.  
  
With permission from King Waldorf himself, I am to voyage across the kingdoms once again, this time searching for a cure to the particular illness that has taken the beloved Queen Dracaena and countless others in the world. After the Queen’s death, the King had a change of heart of sorts and publicly cancelled my banishment. The first thing I did is reach out to him and apologise for my untoward actions, of course, but besides that, I also proposed this particular study to him. Being the gracious ruler that he is, he let me continue with a new purpose, providing me with a band of renowned Healers around the world to help me in my quest as well.  
  
As a way to honour my word to both the King and the deceased Queen, I promise to never settle until I have found a true cure. I owe it to my eala, after all. I’ve been sitting in the backline for far too long, and it is time for me to take action at last.  
  
Let this be my last farewell to Dracaena as well. I know it’s wrong, but I truly love her. Even after months of separation, after she left me to take on the afterlife without me, she is still the only one that resides in my heart. Forgive me, gods and men alike, for I am too human, and therefore flawed, not to stare into my eala _’_ s eyes and fall into a tumultuous pit of various tender emotions. She was a true temptation, but everything that happened between us is no one’s fault but mine. I know I was a right fool to love her and keep her hidden in my heart like the most revolting of secrets, but I want the whole world to know now that I love her. There is no shame in that. I love the late Dracaena Ó Nuallain. I always have, and I always will. She is also the primary reason why I even thought about pursuing this new field of study. I am doing all of this for her.  
  
Now, let a lifetime of research begin.

* * *

Many centuries later, when Spellcasters—now called wizards and witches—and Muggles reign and the other three types of magic have gone extinct, there is one Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, sitting on the dusty floors of the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. Their eyes, recently-opened from the dreamlike memories that suddenly flooded their minds as soon as their hands touched the untitled magical tome now lying forgotten in the corner, remain locked on each other’s faces.  
  
They seem to be quite shocked, judging from Draco’s slacked jaw and Hermione’s loud gasp. Obviously, they didn’t expect this kind of information to be thrust into their brains when they walked into the library that night, and they certainly weren’t expecting to learn that they are soulmates, of all things!  
  
A few more seconds pass, and they still seem to be stuck in the exact position. Draco still sits with his back straightened and his fists clenched while Hermione openly stares, gaping, as unshed tears begin to form in her eyes.  
  
“Dracaena?” whispers Hermione, placing one hand over her mouth in shock and recognition. The relief in her tone doesn’t seem to belong to her, but instead, to the man who lived hundreds of years ago and shared the same soul as her.  
  
Draco swallows, willing his emotions to go back where they came from. “Hermes,” he pronounces, a short vision of the life his last human incarnation lived flashing before his eyes.  
  
Hermione slowly nods, stifled whimpers flying out of her lips as silent tears stream down her cheeks. “You’re here; I can’t believe it.”  
  
Struggling to keep his emotions at bay, Draco sets his gaze on his lap and clears his throat. “I’m here.”  
  
At his assurance, the first heart-wrenching sob is yanked from Hermione’s throat, swiftly followed by more. The fingers on the hand that she placed over her mouth tremble in apprehension, but despite herself, a relieved grin breaks out of her face, utter elation fluttering in her chest. The happiness blooming inside her isn’t truly hers, but it feels too real for her to set aside and ignore.  
  
Unable to fight the feelings their last lifetimes felt any longer, Hermione launches herself into Draco’s arms and gives him the hug that’s been coming for literally centuries. Draco’s eyes widen as his soulmate crashes into him, and despite his reluctance, he winds his arms around her waist, a strange feeling of completion washing over him.  
  
Only when Draco feels Hermione’s face burrowing in his neck does he allow himself to weep quietly. As Hermione murmurs sweet words against his shoulder, Draco shuts his eyes and sighs in relief, and they simply relish in their sweet reunion.  
  
At that moment, the fact that they’re enemies doesn’t seem to matter. Right then, Draco Malfoy isn’t a pure-blooded Death Eater tasked to kill the most powerful wizard alive, and Hermione Granger isn’t a Muggle-born Gryffindor who is forever loyal to the Chosen One’s cause. When their palms caress each other’s backs in assurance and disbelief, it isn’t even Dracaena Ó Nuallain and Hermes Lancaster that control their actions any longer.  
  
While they sit there, embracing each other, both fates and bodies intertwined, they are not their mortal lives or bodies for a fleeting moment. Instead, they are the bonded, immortal souls that jump from one lifetime to the next, eternally cursed with love.  
  
Will they finally be given a chance to freely love this time? Will they have their happy endings now? Neither of the souls knows, but one thing that’s for certain is, there’s something different present in both Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, something that keeps them hopeful. They are both fighters and surely, they will never give up something this rare and beautiful without giving it their all, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This month, we were tasked to write an epistolary fic, and this is my interpretation of the prompt! I know the story isn't technically all documentations, but I hope you guys enjoyed this anyway! Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a kudo or a comment or both if you liked it!


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